A Perfect Team
by tectrices
Summary: written for castielfest on LJ  AU based on the conceit of Castle.  Dean is a detective, Castiel is the author following him around.


Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

Author's Note: written for fierysunrise on LJ for castielfest. Prompt: AU based on the show "Castle"

* * *

If anyone had ever asked him, Dean Winchester would have said he was a damn good cop. He knew how to do his job and he did it well – efficiently and generally without complaint. So when Captain Bobby Singer told him that he had to break out of his normal, practiced routine to have some sort of would-be crime novelist follow him around, Dean felt he had a right to make an objection.

"No."

"Dean, would you just – "

"I said _no_, Bobby, I'm not doing it." Dean leaned back against the office door, crossing his arms and glaring. He and the captain stared at each other for a long moment before he said again, "I'm not."

"Did it sound like I was giving you a choice, Winchester?"

Dean's cool lasted for about half a second after Captain Singer said that, but before he had a chance to blow up – saying something he would undoubtedly regret – there was a knock on the door.

The captain looked grimly pleased. "That'd be him," he said lowly. "So keep your ass in line." He gave Dean a last stern look before turning his attention to the door. "Come in."

Tentatively it opened, and a man followed slowly behind it. He was a little shorter than Dean and less sturdily built – his thin frame draped in a rumpled, oversized trench coat. He shut the door behind him and stared at Dean, his gaze piercing and intense, blue eyes focused and far away at the same time. To Dean, he did not make a good impression.

"This him?" Bobby nodded; Dean rolled his eyes. "Christ."

The man shuffled his feet slightly and his stance changed – Dean could tell immediately he was addressing an audience. "As I'm sure Captain Singer has told you, I am Castiel Novak; I am a novelist." He blinked; Dean was pretty sure that was the first time he'd done it since he walked in. "I was given permission to follow you on the cases you worked so that I could observe." He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small memo pad with a pen stuck in the spiral binding. "I hope to use what I learn about the police force to make my novels more authentic."

"Right." Dean was pissed, and he was already dreading having to work with this Castiel guy (what kind of name was _Castiel_ anyway?); but he also knew something of decorum. "If you even care, Mr. Novak, I'm detective Winchester. And if you'll excuse me for just a second, I need to discuss something with Captain Singer."

Bobby discreetly rolled his eyes. But Castiel just nodded and said, "Very well," and then left the office to wait for Dean.

As soon as the door shut, Dean burst. "Bobby, are you serious? This guy?"

"He's a little eccentric," Bobby hedged. "He's a damn writer, what did you expect?"

"I am not letting him follow me around! He's a fucking nutjob and he's only going to get in the way. Don't do this to me, Bobby. I'm a good cop – just let me do my job."

"Right now, Winchester, he is your job." Bobby raised a hand before Dean could launch into another bout of protest. "I'm not asking you to baby-sit him, either. Just let him follow you around and do what he said. Observe. He's not here to get in your way or cause trouble. And if he does, then you got nothing to worry about; he's off your hands." Bobby sighed and leaned forward over his desk, tapping a pen idly against the stack of papers in front of him. "I only agreed to this because he has some powerful friends; these are people you don't want to piss off."

"I don't care," Dean said angrily. "If – "

"You know what? I don't give a damn if you care or not, you're going to do this. This conversation is over. You're going to help out this Novak and I don't want to hear another word about it. Now go… talk to him, at least."

"But – "

"Go!"

Dean pressed his lips together hard, holding back a sneer. But whatever he wanted to say he swallowed, and he turned on his heel and walked out the door.

Bobby shook his head. "Idjit."

Castiel caught him just as he barreled out the door. "Excuse me, I don't – "

"Sit," Dean barked, pointing to the nearest chair. "I have to take a piss. I'll be back in a second."

With a resigned sigh, Castiel obeyed, pulling out his little notebook again and jotting something down.

XXX

A Led Zeppelin song was on the radio; Dean turned up the volume, effectively ending the conversation. Castiel cleared his throat. "So."

Dean just continued to glower. "I answered all your questions," he said. "That's it, right? Are we done?"

"I need more than just answers to rudimentary questions," he explained. "Most of that I could learn from research. I need to watch you while you actually work. I want to study your mannerisms, how you move, how you talk. Captain Singer told me that you are very archetypal. I need to understand you to create a realistic character."

"You want to _study_ me," Dean repeated, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Are you saying that you," he said deliberately," will be basing a character in your novel… on_me_?"

Castiel was silent for a long moment. Then, in a voice that would not have fooled a child, he said, "No."

"Dude, you're a terrible liar. And by the way – I'm an actual person. I'm not just some… some fucking archetype or whatever the hell it was you called me."

Castiel was unperturbed by the rise in venom in Dean's voice; if anything, Dean's words seemed to have enlivened him. "That is exactly why I needed you. My editor said that in my manuscript the protagonist I'd chosen was too flat. Too one-dimensional."

"I thought you were supposed to be great. A real fuckin' Shakespeare or something."

"I have no trouble plotting," Castiel responded, and at this jab his voice was unmistakably colder. "My books are complex and in every other aspect I excel. However." He shifted slightly in his seat. "I wanted to try my hand at a more popular genre and I have always enjoyed mystery and crime novels. I just… do not understand people quite as well as I understand the workings of books."

"So what – are you going to take all the interesting parts of _me_ and just shove them into this character of yours?"

"If it will alleviate your worries, I will only use you as inspiration." He pulled out his notebook and flipped through a few pages. "Captain Singer described you as belligerent and stubborn, but also very loyal. It was also implied that you may have a streak of vigilante-ism, and I gathered your weak spot is your younger brother. Though externally my character my character may appear the same, I imagine him as much more vulnerable." He looked at Dean, and the hair on the back of his neck started to rise; he could _feel_ those eyes. And Castiel looked at him as though already he could see Dean's own vulnerability. If he hadn't been driving, Dean would have been very, very tempted to punch him just to tear that gaze away. Castiel finally looked away and closed his little notebook. "And my protagonist is an only child."

"Whatever," Dean grunted. He was not used to being…_observed_ like that, and it made him more than a little uncomfortable. "Look, we're here. Now you can watch, but you sure as hell better keep your mouth shut. This woman just lost her husband; she doesn't need anyone bothering her, asking questions like they're watching some damn CSI show."

Castiel nodded. "I will do nothing to trivialize her pain, I assure you."

Dean ignored him and stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Castiel followed behind him silently and they went into the building. Dean flashed his badge at the woman at the desk and after a brief exchange got on the elevator. He didn't speak and following his example neither did Castiel; they rode up to the fifth floor in complete silence, save for the canned, jazzy music coming from the elevator speakers.

They got out and stopped in front of a door labeled 524; without any ado, Dean knocked.

After about thirty seconds the door opened a crack, just as much as the chain allowed, and a woman's tired voice asked "Yes?"

As though picking up a new persona, Dean's entire demeanor changed. "Excuse me, m'am," he said kindly. "I'm detective Dean Winchester and… I'm just here to ask you a few questions about your husband."

She sighed and after unlatching the door she let them in.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Howard," he said, taking a seat on the couch. She sat in the chair nearest him, her frail body curved, back arched and shoulders down like she had too much to carry. Dean chanced a quick look at Castiel. He was as severe and out-of-place as he'd been since their first meeting earlier that day, but he didn't, as Dean had suspected he would, seem to be making the situation worse. There was something unmistakably sympathetic about his odd hovering near the arm of the couch; even though he was still creepy, he was at least not being detrimental. Maybe having him on cases wouldn't be the complete disaster Dean had first imagined. "My…" He struggled for a half-second to find an appropriate word. "Associate, Mr. Novak, and I are only here to ask you a few questions."

"Chris was a good man," she said, dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand. They were bloodshot and rimmed with runny liner. "He was… he was a good man. I'll answer any questions you have, detectives. Anything to help you figure out wh-why this happened."

Dean consulted the notes he'd jotted down. "He was found in a warehouse downtown – do you have any idea what he might have been doing there?"

"Chris never… he never really left the apartment for much besides work. Unless he was supposed to be doing research or interviewing someone there, I have no idea why he'd have been there."

"Interviewing someone? What did your husband do for a living, Mrs. Howard?"

She laughed a little. "He was a reporter for a little newspaper. It was just one of those… those silly papers like the National Enquirer? They ran articles on alien abductions, conspiracy theories, things like that. Chris didn't _really_ believe it, not like some of his co-workers did, but he was something of an expert on ghosts. That was what he covered." She reached for a tissue from a box on the side table, and blew her nose. "I-if the warehouse was haunted, or at least rumored to be, that might explain why he was there."

Dean nodded, trying to quell his sudden interest. "We'll look into that, thank you. Now, there wasn't anyone he interviewed who'd… had a problem with your husband? Someone with a grudge against him? Or maybe someone he'd fought with recently?"

Mrs. Howard shook her head. "I'm sure several people thought my husband was a little_strange_, but I can't imagine him actually having any enemies. Chris was a very kind, unassuming man. He was… He was the sweetest person I knew."

With a grim smile, Dean stood. He knew when to let a widow grieve. "Thank you very much for your time, Mrs. Howard. Don't hesitate to call if you can think of anything else – anything at all – that might help."

She nodded. "I will. Goodbye, detectives."

Dean nodded and gestured to Castiel to follow him out. They left, and as soon as they'd made it into the hallway Dean sighed.

"Damn it."

"What's the matter?"

"This case," he said, pushing the button for the elevator with more force than was strictly necessary. "There's something off about it. This is the third body we've found like this. In a location away from where they lived, death by exsanguinations, and every one of them had something to do with the supernatural."

Castiel blinked. "You suspect this latest murder is only one of a series."

Dean sighed. As if that wasn't obvious. "_Yes,_" he said, clearly exasperated. "And we don't have a single clue as to why this is going on."

"You seemed… concerned," Castiel said. "Once she mentioned his job. Do you think that is significant?"

"I wouldn't say significant yet," Dean explained sullenly. "But like I said – all three had something to do with the supernatural."

"You mean the victims themselves – not the murders."

"What? Oh. Oh, yeah, yeah, I didn't mean the murders. The victims. This guy worked for a newspaper about that shit, the second victim claimed she was a psychic, and the first practiced some weird ass religion." Dean ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the toes of his boots. The elevator doors opened and they stepped back out into the lobby.

"I do not know if the supernatural elements are important, but if I'd been plotting this I would definitely agree. They are connected."

"Yes, Castiel, isn't that what I've been fucking saying?" Dean sped up, pushing through the doors with Castiel strolling along behind him. He got to the car and swung the door open, climbing in and closing the door tightly. After a moment, Castiel climbed in as well.

For a long moment, they were silent. Neither moved.

"We have no leads," Dean said finally, starting the car and putting it into reverse. "Nothing. The only clues we have are the cause of death and the… connection… the victims have."

"That is something," Castiel told him. Dean thought it was a little uncharitably optimistic.

"Not really. This isn't like a _book_. There's not going to be some big, showy mastermind who screws up and leaves that one important clue. I'm not a genius. I'm not going to be able to sit down with a beer and think my way through it."

"This seems to be weighing heavily on your mind," Castiel observed – and perhaps a little too astutely, because Dean grit his teeth and pressed harder on the accelerator.

"Yeah. Well." He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Obsession's in my blood."

Castiel was silent.

Bobby had warned him about Dean before they had ever been introduced. The Winchesters had been officers for three or so generations; John Winchester, Dean's father, had been chief of police before Bobby. And he'd been killed in the line of duty, chasing his wife's killer.

Mary Winchester had been killed when Dean was only a child. She was not, Bobby advised, a safe topic to bring up. Ever.

When they reached the station, Dean's mood had tempered somewhat. "I think you're finally going to be useful," he told Castiel as he put the car in park. "These three murders are the only ones we know about _now_. But they don't take place on any distinct timeline – and until we have an idea about the killer we can't really say why he started killing. So."

Castiel caught up quickly. "You suspect these may not be the only crimes."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. So! We need to research. We'll go through old case files and see if we can't find any other case that might fit the pattern."

"I… do not think my help will be necessary. Watching you is enough; anything else and I would just be interfering."

"Oh no." Dean put a hand on his shoulder. Firmly. "You're coming with me and you're going to help. I don't care if it's good for your stupid book or not."

X X X

Things went on that way for a few weeks. Dean was no less stubborn and combative and – to his mind – Castiel was no less bizarre. They made very little headway in the Howard case, though they found several cases that were worryingly close to the pattern. It didn't sit well with Dean, none of it did. He didn't take cases personally – he'd discovered long ago that led to obsession and as close as a guy could go to madness and still come back. He cared about the cases, he cared about the people – but he never let himself get too close.

This case, however, hit a little too close to him. His mother, years ago, had been murdered. And the details were more similar than he wanted to think about. The hunt for the killer had eventually been what killed his father. Dean would do anything to catch the bastard, but he had seen his father spiral further and further down the closer he got to the truth, and though in every other part of his life Dean thought his father'd set a damn fine example, that was one set of footsteps he didn't want to follow.

So while Castiel would have bothered him enough in regular circumstances, he had even less patience than he would have otherwise. Bobby, who'd been friends with John before Dean had been born, had noticed; he knew Dean, and while maybe he didn't like having to let Castiel follow him around, he knew it would be a little easier for everyone if Castiel and Dean got along.

Usually, Dean spent his days off at home. Some nights he went out, occasionally went home with someone else, but other than the occasional one-night stand, his job was his life. He was sitting in his apartment one afternoon, and had just turned on the television when his phone rang. Grumbling to himself, though only marginally displeased as he hadn't planned on really watching anything anyway, he picked up his phone from the coffee table and grunted into it, "Winchester."

"Hey Dean, it's Sam."

Dean straightened up. "Sam? Hey, how are you?"

"I'm fine." There was an edge of mischief to Sam's voice that already Dean didn't like. "I just wanted to call and see how you were. We haven't talked in a little while and I just – "

Dean cut him off. "Stop the bullshit, Sam. You talked to Bobby, didn't you?"

Sam's grin was so loud Dean swore he could hear it over the phone. "He might have called me."

"So you know about the writer."

"Is it really Castiel Novak? Like… _the_ Castiel Novak?"

"I don't know, Sam, how many could there be?" He rolled his eyes and muted the television.

"He's famous, Dean. I guess his books aren't really mainstream, but… but they're pretty big." There was a pause and then he said in a rushed voice, "I want to meet him."

"What? Sammy, come on, you've got to be kidding me."

"Just because you don't read doesn't mean I don't. And Bobby said the two of you weren't really getting along. Maybe, in a situation where you're more at ease… like dinner with me and Jess… you could get to know him a little better."

"And did it ever come up in that giant head of yours that maybe I don't _want_ to get to know him? He's work, Sammy – I am keeping my job as far out of my personal life as I can. I don't need you making friends with him or getting to know him – oh, and by the way, he's a fucking creep. I don't know if Bobby mentioned _that_. He wears the same old trenchcoat everyday, over a suit, and he has no concept of personal space. He… _hovers_ and he stares."

"Aww, Dean, that sounds _great_. When do I get to meet him?"

"You don't, Sam."

"Dean, come on…"

"I said _no_, Sam. And weren't you too busy with that big case you were working on to do anything as distracting as meeting some dumbass author?"

"I don't work all the time, Dean."

"Yes you do, Sammy."

"You know Jess wants to meet him, too."

"Sam…"

"Dean?"

"No."

X X X

As was usually the case, Sam did not listen.

Bobby had recommended a little diner near the station – and, since Castiel and Dean had been researching and arguing and generally causing more of a problem than he wanted to deal with, he'd _asked_ that Dean take Castiel with him.

But when they'd walked in and seen Sam sitting with Jess, Dean knew Bobby had set him up.

"It was a trap."

Sam tried to look scandalized as Dean and Castiel sat down, but after about half a second he defaulted back into a pleased grin. "No, not at all."

Jess laughed behind her hand and Castiel sat there stiffly, looking uncomfortable and out of place as his eyes drifted from brother to brother.

"This is my brother Sam and his girlfriend Jess," Dean explained reluctantly. "They wanted to meet you." He glared.

"Oh." Castiel blinked. "Hello."

"What? Dude, aren't you angry? They tricked us."

As always, Castiel looked completely unfazed. "Why would I be angry?"

"Wha – are you serious?"

"I rarely joke, Dean."

"Yeah, I noticed. But… Don't you hate getting caught by annoying fans?"

"I appreciate that they like my work." Castiel stared at Sam for a moment. "And your brother is not annoying."

"Wait another minute and you'll change your mind."

Jess laughed again. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Novak," she put in quickly, before one of the boys could say something else. "I hope you don't think we're being presumptuous – Sam did want to meet you, and well…" She grinned at her boyfriend beside her. "He couldn't resist getting to have a little fun with Dean."

Sam grinned. Dean glared. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Both Sam and Jess seemed to like Castiel; they got along well and the questions about his books – much to Dean's dismay – seemed to make him even more comfortable. They didn't bother him at all, even when Sam produced a volume for him to sign. Dean caught a glance at the cover. He'd never even heard of it.

X X X

On a Friday, a new body was found.

This time it was a teenager. A young girl about fourteen or fifteen had been found in another abandoned warehouse – the same one the first body had been found in. She'd lived in a house reported to be haunted. Her name was Jane.

"Damn it!" Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slammed his beer down on the bar. "Another one. We have nothing. We have not one fucking clue why this is happening."

Castiel was perched beside him, sipping every once in a while on the glass in front of him. The bar was dirty and dingy – with dim lighting and a crowd of unruly patrons. He looked out of place. Dean had gotten the trenchcoat off of him, but he still wore his suit, as ill fitting as it was. He hadn't been drinking quite as steadily as Dean, and excluding the bartender was one of the most sober people there. "We don't have_nothing_," he said hoarsely. "We've made some progress researching old cases."

"Yeah," Dean agreed viciously, whirling towards the other man. "We've figured out these aren't the only four. That there are probably more – maybe _dozens_ of other murders." He put his head on the bar and raked his fingers through his short brown hair. "And we can't catch the fucker."

There was very little Castiel could say to comfort Dean; he knew that. It was frustrating – and it had to feel hopeless. Castiel drained his glass and looked over at Dean. "I think you need another drink."

X X X

As it turned out, Dean was a much happier drunk.

Castiel hefted him up, leaning into the bigger man and taking the full brunt of his weight. With some maneuvering, he handed the cab driver the fare and shut the door.

"I want to go home," Dean said, stumbling a little as he propelled Castiel forward. "This isn't my building.

"I live here. And you're very drunk."

Dean laughed, a wet high-pitched sound. "You, Casty… Cassiel. Cas." He smiled benignly. "You're drunk."

"I'm certainly not sober," Castiel relented. He was the more capable of the two, that was quite obvious. But his head was swimming and there was that bubbly warmth spreading through him that always came with alcohol. He could still walk and talk – but he wouldn't be any good for anything requiring any sort of higher brain functioning.

With some effort, they made their way to Castiel's apartment – and he thanked whatever powers might have been responsible that they didn't run into any of his neighbors.

"You could try to be a little more helpful, you know," he said, pushing Dean through the door.

Dean just laughed again and stumbled in, making his way to the couch as Castiel shut the door behind them. "Dude, your apartment." Dean grinned up at him. Castiel sighed, feeling extremely put-upon; but he sat down beside his unwanted guest. They leaned back and for a long moment were silent – Castiel had almost forgotten he'd been asked a question.

He roused himself from the pleasant stupor of warmth and asked "What about my apartment?"

Dean looked around for a moment before he said, "It's _stupid_."

Castiel pressed his lips together. "Stupid."

"Yeah. Stupid. It's _stupid_. It looks like it came out of some magazine. Like you're some… robot man." He leaned closer, like he was about to reveal some ancient secret. "But I kind of like that about you."

"You like that I am a robot." Castiel blinked. "I am not a robot."

"I know." Dean fell against Castiel's shoulder and patted him firmly on the arm. "You have brains and shit. Skin." His hand moved awkwardly up from Castiel's shoulder to his face. "A face."

"Yes, I do have a face." Dean's eyes were closing and Castiel pushed him over and stood. "I am not a robot."

Dean grunted. "Imma sleep on your couch. Right here. I don't want to go home."

He hadn't been able to extract an address to give to the taxi _anyway_, so that had been Castiel's plan. "That's fine, Dean." He sighed. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Cas."

X X X

Dean woke up to a loud buzzing.

"Shit," he moaned, blinking back the headache that had come on as soon as he'd opened his eyes. He grappled blindly for his bedside table, but there was nothing there. His phone kept ringing; and it was loud, and Dean realized very quickly that he was very hungover. He sat up; he was on a beige leather couch in an apartment that was definitely not his. His phone was laying on the coffee table; he picked it up and flipped it open. He coughed. "Hello?"

"Dean, are you all right? You sound awful, man."

"Sam." He groaned. "I'm… fine. I drank too much last night and… Yeah. I regret it now."

Sam coughed to cover up a chuckle. "Well, Jess and I were going to invite you out to breakfast, but I guess you need time to rest."

"Ha ha, thanks, bro. I still need to get home and get a shower before I head anywhere."

"Where are you now?"

Dean looked around. "I have no idea."

"You're in my apartment," a voice behind him said – Castiel's voice, he registered somewhere in the back of his mind.

Castiel came around and said, "You would not tell me your address, so I had the taxi drop us here. You slept on my couch." He paused a moment and looked down towards Dean's knees. "Please put your pants back on."

"What?" Dean winced, and held the phone a little away from his ear. "Dean, you're not wearing pants, and you're in Castiel Novak's apartment."

"You don't have to say his full name every time, Sam. I know who he is."

"Right, whatever, that still doesn't explain why you're not currently wearing pants. I know you and Castiel argue a lot, but I never thought that was just a cover for – "

"Oh, shut the hell up, Sam," Dean barked.

"No, no, Dean, it's fine. I mean… he's pretty cute."

"Screw you, Sam." His brother laughed and Dean, who really wasn't having the best morning in the first place, just hung up. He cleared his throat and looked at Castiel, and then at his jeans lying on the floor beside the couch. He picked them up. "Can I, uh, borrow your bathroom?"

Castiel pointed towards the little kitchenette. "Through there. It's the second door. There's aspirin in the cabinet, as well."

"Thanks."

Most of the mornings Dean had woken up in a strange apartment turned out to be awkward, but so far he was pretty sure this morning had the rest beat. At least there hadn't been sex to make things even worse – because as far as he knew, he'd spent the entire night on the couch and Castiel had presumably been in his bedroom. Dean splashed some cool water on his face. He didn't think he'd have been able to cope if the circumstances had been different – if they actually had woken up together. Dean had nothing against Castiel, really, besides what he'd always had against him; on the whole, Castiel was a nice guy. But that was just the problem – he was a _guy_.

Dean had never thought of himself as anything but straight, and the moment any feeling that could even possibly disrupt that blossomed, he beat it down with a second's hesitation. _Yes_, maybe he'd had an occasional, fleeting desire and maybe he'd even acted on that, but he wasn't about to admit it. He was a very typical, masculine type of guy, the type of guy who liked women – and he was stereotyping and he knew this, and he had absolutely no problem with _other_ men being attracted to men, but he was going to stay as heterosexual as possible. It wasn't as though anything had even happened with Castiel. He woke up on the couch after a night of drinking because he'd been so fucked over by the newest murder. It wasn't the first time he'd needed a place to crash.

So it wasn't an awkward situation, not really. Dean shook his head a little to clear out any uncomfortable thoughts. He pulled on his pants. "Damn it," he muttered to the mirror. "It just had to be Castiel."

"Sorry if I was a hassle," Dean said, after walking back out to the front of the apartment.

"It wasn't really that much trouble," Castiel assured him with a shrug. "I would have just paid your taxi to your apartment, but you would not tell me where you live."

"I was… pretty drunk."

"Incredibly drunk."

"So you… Have anything to eat around here?"

Castiel looked around his kitchen. "I don't cook much," he said. "But there is a place very near here. They have pie; I am told you enjoy pie."

Dean grinned. "That's for damn sure."

"Then… if you will give me just a moment to get ready, we can go."

Dean nodded in assent and Castiel hurried back towards his room. "Right." He felt a little uncomfortable just standing there in someone else's place; so he took a seat on the couch, which really wasn't all that much more comfortable, to wait.

The apartment looked nothing like what he would have pictured if he'd ever taken the time to do it. Everything was nice, neat, orderly – yes, which fit perfectly with his idea of Cas. But… everything was modern, shining, the most up-to-date models of nearly everything in urban, streamlined fashion. Like some decorator hadn't had a clue how to fix it up and had just picked a page out of a magazine at random and gone from there. It was… _nice_, Dean guessed, as far as that style went, but it wasn't Castiel Novak.

"Are you ready to go?"

Dean stood up quickly and turned around. It was probably more than a little creepy to be just staring at all the man's stuff, like he was casing the place.

"Uh…. Yeah. Yeah." He turned away from the immaculate, expansive living room. He wiped his nose and cleared his throat. "Let's go."

As Castiel was locking the door, however, Dean couldn't help but voice his thoughts. "Your apartment is… Do you have like, a girlfriend or something who decorated?"

"No," Castiel said, putting the keys into the pocket of his trenchcoat. "One of my brothers helped out a little, I suppose."

"Yeah, well." Dean shrugged. "I wouldn't have guessed you live there."

"What's wrong with my apartment?" He frowned deeply and said. "Let me guess. It's_stupid_."

"Hey, you said it, not me. It just doesn't look like stuff you'd pick out. You're way more old-fashioned. I figured you'd have old, mis-matched furniture and piles of books everywhere."

"My books sell very well, Dean. I can afford nice furniture."

"I didn't say it had to be raggedy. Don't be so damn defensive. It's just… yeah, I guess it's the apartment I'd expect a guy who wrote thick books about obscure shit to have, but not you."

"As I said, my brother helped me. That's what he said I should have, and I had no problem with it."

"Dude, do you always do exactly what people tell you?"

"I… Not always. I am just good at following orders."

"That's your problem right there, Cas." Dean hailed a cab and they both climbed inside. "Maybe you need to start thinking for yourself."

X X X

The restaurant was dark – very elegant for an out of the way place; a place thick with atmosphere. Castiel wasn't really surprised Gabriel had chosen it.

"Thanks," Gabriel said as he sat down, giving the waitress a smile and what he seemed to think was a sultry wave. If he'd been less sober, he would have slapped her on the ass, and Castiel briefly considered the merits of keeping Gabriel's wine glass away from him for the duration of the night. "She'll be right back," Gabriel said. "Order whatever you want; you're paying, by the way."

Castiel gave him a half-hearted glare.

"And! I am so, so grateful that you offered. Really, Castiel, you're just too kind." He gave his brother a challenging smile, one eyebrow lifting. "You seem in a peachy mood. I'm assuming your day was…" He drew out the 's' a little as he held Castiel's gaze. "Tough."

"That is… not entirely inaccurate." He pursed his lips and steepled his fingers under his chin.

"Thanks to a certain detective?"

Castiel frowned. Gabriel smiled triumphantly.

"So you two don't get along. What a surprise." He leaned forward with what Castiel felt was an unwarranted amount of glee. "The word is that he thinks you're meddling. That you have no business interfering in his work."

"Yes, he's made his opinion quite clear."

"The cover hard to keep up? I suppose it helps that you actually have published a few books."

"It is very probably Captain Singer knows something… but Dean has not asked any questions."

"Well I'm glad _Dean_ is so easy to fool."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Detective Winchester."

"Winchester?" Gabriel perked up. "He's not related to – "

"The lawyer?" Castiel nodded. "He's Sam Winchester's brother."

"Well."

The waitress came back with the wine he'd ordered just as he'd spoken, and he paused a moment to take an appreciative sip. They ordered, as well; Gabriel's eyes followed the waitress as she walked off. Then he turned back to his brother. "That is very, very interesting."

Castiel shrugged. "That was the influencing factor in my decision as to which precinct to approach."

"Have you found anything out?"

"No. As it turns out, the brothers do not discuss work very often. I met him, but he didn't seem to have talked to Dean about the case."

Gabriel smirked. "He introduced you to his brother? That's just adorable, Castiel."

The red tinge on Castiel's face did nothing to discount the implications. "His brother is a fan of my books; he arranged it himself. From what I gather, they enjoy interfering in the other's life."

Gabriel just nodded. "So… detective Winchester. Is he… attractive, by any chance?"

Castiel's mouth turned down. "I suppose so." He looked at his brother, his voice flat. "I hadn't really noticed."

"So he wasn't the man you left your apartment with this morning?"

"You were spying on me?"

"Not… in those words." Gabriel leaned back more comfortably in his chair and gave Castiel a very knowing smile. "But you didn't answer my question."

There was definite fidgeting. "Yes, Gabriel, that was Dean. But he did not spend the night _with_ me. We had been drinking together, and he was too drunk to give me his address."

"And you couldn't have called his interfering brother?"

"I was not entirely sober, either."

The food came then, however, much to Castiel's relief. For awhile Gabriel was silent as they ate. That did not last long.

"It's been awhile, you know. Since you actually had any sort of relationship." Gabriel took another quick bite. "You know. With a person."

Castiel sighed. "I am not discussing this any further, Gabriel. I am not interested in Dean; I am only working with him."

"But that's not the only thing you want to be doing with him."

He slammed his fork down on the table. "Did you ask me here for a reason, Gabriel, or did you only want to hound me about my personal life?"

Gabriel shrugged, but slid a manila folder over towards Castiel. "Here. Read it over. And I'd really suggest making some actual progress in the case. I don't care if you have to spoon feed this guy – if he can't figure it out on his own, then that's what you're going to have to do. We have to catch Lucifer legitimately."

"I hate that name. He's not actually the devil, you know."

Gabriel shrugged, still wearing a grin. "I think it's kind of poetic, don't you think?_Castiel_?"

Castiel just took the folder. "Goodbye, Gabriel. I'll check in again soon."

X X X

Sam and Dean had a close, if somewhat dysfunctional relationship, and Jess realized this not long after she and Sam had started dating. They were really the only family they had, so she made it a point to try to get them together every once in awhile. She'd fixed a nice dinner and Dean had come over to the apartment she and Sam shared to eat with them.

"Sorry," Dean said quickly, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Have to take this." He pushed in his chair and flipped open his phone, walking through the doorway into the kitchen. "Hello?"

"Is he making any headway in that case he was working on?" Jess asked quietly. "I know you told me how much it was bothering him."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. You know he doesn't actually like to talk about things."

"—what? No, Cas, I didn't say – Yes, you're bothering me, so hurry up and say whatever the hell it is you need to say!"

Jess laughed a little. "At least he and Mr. Novak seem to be getting along now."

"Yeah. Yeah, they… are. I think they might actually be friends now."

"Well, that's good for Dean, right?"

Sam nodded. "He's not exactly Mr. Popularity, that's for sure. It's been a long time since Dean's taken the time to actually be friends with anyone. I don't think he's even had a date – or… anything in months."

"It's… too bad," Jess said, leaning her chin on her hand. She looked towards the kitchen speculatively.

"What's too bad?"

"Dean and Mr. Novak! If _he_ was a woman…"

Sam laughed. "What? Jess, are you trying to suggest that Dean and… and Castiel Novak? Would be good _together_?"

"You did tell me Dean woke up in his apartment without pants."

"—Cas, are you serious? Damn it, Cas, my car's an _Impala_. A '67 Chevy Impala. Best fucking car ever made. And – wait, what? No, I'm not saying that just because it's mine."

Jess shrugged. "I don't know, it just seems like a lot of their arguing might really be… flirting."

"Well, I think you're forgetting one important fact." Sam took a long drink of water. "They're both straight."

"One of them isn't."

"Are you…" He looked at her in confusion for a moment. "Really? I thought he was married to that… the other writer, before her accident?"

"Well he was. But just because he likes women doesn't mean he can't also like men. I read an interview with him recently, asking about why he hadn't re-married… and he said that he could never love another woman as much as he loved her. So the only other option…" She shrugged. "I don't know; it's just interesting. It's none of our business – "

"Exactly," Sam cut in, giving her a warning look.

Jess dismissed him with a wide smile. "I'm not saying we have to do anything. But I just wonder if Dean's ever really thought about it. Maybe he was just waiting. You know, for that…" She giggled a little. "Prince Charming."

Sam laughed, as well, and he put one hand gently over hers. "I do appreciate that you care about my brother, Jess, but I'm sure that Dean doesn't want to start dating Castiel."

Dean came back into the room then, saying a quick goodbye into the phone. "Yeah, I'm having dinner with Sam and Jess. I'll call you later, okay, Cas? Right. Bye." He sat down with a shrug. "Sorry about that," he said. "Idiot wanted to tell me something and he had to tell me _right now_."

Jess smiled sweetly. "It's no problem at all."

X X X

After the fourth murder, things seemed to have quieted down. But Dean was getting more and more agitated. They still had no leads, no suspects, and every day they couldn't find anything was one more day another body might turn up.

"You need to take a break, Dean," Bobby told him one day. He handed him a cup of coffee.

"Thanks." Dean took a sip and shook his head. "I'm fine, Bobby. This is just… I just want to catch the bastard that's doing this. I'll take a break then."

Bobby sighed. "All right, Dean. Just… don't wear yourself too thin, okay?"

It was frustrating to have Bobby hovering over him, worried like some sort of grizzled mother bird. But Dean knew all too well where obsession could take a man – and it had been heartbreaking to see it happen to his father, for Bobby to see his friend _and_ the man as close to a surrogate son he was going to have go through it had to be harrowing. Dean wasn't going to let that happen.

"Um… excuse me?" A pretty, dark-haired woman dressed in old, simple clothes stood there. "The man at the desk said I could find Captain Singer here." She shifted a little, obviously uncomfortable. "I need to talk to him. "

"That'd be me," Bobby said gruffly. "What can I do for you?"

"I… know something. I need to talk to you." Her eyes shifted over to Dean. "Alone."

Dean gave a forced smile. "I'll go get Cas. We need to go out on patrol soon, anyway."

He made it to the door before he heard, "There have been a few murders recently, all the bodies drained of blood."

Dean turned immediately and barreled back toward her. "What's going on? Do you know who's doing this?"

Bobby put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Why don't we go in here, miss. This is Detective Winchester, he's been working that case. You don't mind if he hears what you have to say, too, do you?"

The girl shrugged, a dark frown on her face. "Fine."

The girl's name was Ruby. And, she said, she was in a cult.

"I never wanted to be," she said, obviously agitated and growing more belligerent. "It just sort of… happened."

"And this cult? That's who's responsible?"

Ruby gave Dean a dirty look. "_Yes_," she said, her voice indicating she thought him an idiot. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. It's…" She let out a deep sigh. "It's some sort of ritual. And from what I've heard, it's been going on, maybe for decades. This is the trial of blood; there are going to be ten murders all together, maybe more. I don't know much; I'm just a normal member, I don't know what's going on with the higher-ups."

"Is there a leader? It is just… one man killing all these people?"

"Look, I don't know who actually commits the murders, I just know that they say it has to be done. But… there is a leader." She bit her lip hard for half a second and looked away. When she looked back up at Bobby, she looked scared for the first time. "He calls himself Lucifer."

Dean stared at her blankly. "Lucifer. Like – "

"Yes," she answered sharply. "Exactly like that. We don't worship him; we don't worship any sort of devil or demon. But he… That's how he gets people. He warps what the church says. He appeals to people who have been hurt or betrayed."

"And… this ritual," Bobby said. "What's it for?"

"I don't know!" Ruby spat. "I don't know what he's doing or why it's going on – I just know who it is, and I know you have to stop it."

"And this… isn't the first time he's been killing?"

Ruby shook her head. "This is the first time anyone has caught on. But I think there were two trials before this one. I don't know the first one, but the second one was the trial of fire."

X X X

Blood pounded heavy in Dean's ears.

It fit. It all fit perfectly. The manner of death, the time frame…

His _mother_. His mother, Mary Winchester, beautiful, kind, completely innocent – had been burned to death in their home. Burned.

_A trial of fire._

He beat his fist once against the bathroom wall. They killed her. For nothing, for some ridiculous ritual for some insane cult. And his mother had died.

He had to find them. He had to make them pay for what they did to her – for what they did to everyone.

"Dean." Castiel shut the door behind him, walking slowly towards Dean a look of clear worry on his face. "Bobby said you were in here."

"Oh yeah? Did he tell you why? Did he tell you who came in today, what information she had?"

Dean's eyes were wild; Castiel took a step closer, meeting his gaze in the mirror over the sink. "Yes." And Bobby told him the connection that both he and Dean had made. Cas didn't say he was sorry; he didn't try to sympathize or understand. He walked up and put one strong hand on Dean's arm, right above his elbow. Dean grabbed Cas' arm in return.

"We have to find them," Dean said quietly. Determination filled his voice – thick, heavy, without any hesitation.

Cas leaned closer. "And we will."

They stood there for a long, tense moment, the only parts of their bodies touching the firm grip each had on the other's arm.

X X X

If Dean had been growing obsessed with the case before, after Ruby had given them the information she had, his focus was only magnified tenfold. He didn't talk to anyone – not Sam or Bobby or Cas – about how he felt; he only worked that much harder and poured that much more of himself into bringing the people responsible down.

"We don't know the location of the next murder," Dean said, staring straight ahead at the road. "But we do know when – Ruby said that we have a little over a week before someone else is going to die."

Cas stared at Dean. "You don't trust her."

A little aggravated at the insight, Dean shifted his grip on the steering wheel. "No," he said finally, reluctant to admit it. "I don't. But she's the only lead we have, so I don't really have a choice."

"I don't trust her, either," Cas said suddenly. "I think you are right; I think she has other motives for giving up this information." He'd been investigating the case far longer than Dean and he knew how well the ranks had been built, how every single member the cult amassed had to be trustworthy. If Ruby knew even that much, she wasn't as innocent as she said; there was a good chance she knew much more.

"Yeah, well, great, Cas. But we don't really have a choice."

They had been getting along so well, but after that moment in the bathroom – something completely innocent, a friend trying to comfort him, Dean reminded himself – Dean hadn't been able to be comfortable around him. Things were tense; and the steadily growing compulsion in Dean to figure things out, the edge of desperation he was developing, didn't really help things. But at least it gave him something to focus on.

"Stay in the car," he instructed Castiel. They'd pulled into some corporation Ruby said Lucifer was somehow connected to – all he wanted to do was talk. "This will take maybe five minutes while they pull the records."

"All right," Castiel said with a sigh. "I will stay in the car."

X X X

"What?"

Sam didn't answer immediately, standing up and walking towards Dean, an expression of calm on his face. That was not good. That meant he'd been planning the conversation for awhile. That meant he wouldn't back down."

Dean cursed silently to himself.

"Dean," Sam said slowly, holding up his large hands in mock-surrender. "I just think you should… consider it."

"_Consider_ it? Consider what, Sam? I'm not gay."

"No-o," Sam agreed tentatively, "I didn't say that. I – "

"Yeah, you didn't say that but you're suggesting I take him out on a damn date. What the hell, man?"

"You can't tell me that – "

"I'm not talking about this, Sam. I'm not gay! I don't want to date a guy. Ever."

There was a long, tense moment of silence. "But what about Castiel?"

Dean stared at his brother like he'd lost his mind. "Sam. He's still a fucking _man_."

"I know," Sam said, obviously frustrated. "I know. But Dean. You've never been… _happy_when you were with a woman, not really. You seem okay for awhile, but you never stay that way."

"And that makes me fucking queer?"

Sam's mouth turned down in a disapproving frown. "No, Dean, don't… You haven't ever had, I don't know… feelings?"

"Oh, there it is!" Dean cried, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "Yeah, Sam, let's talk about our _feelings_. I like women, Sam. _Women_. Just like you do. I always have; it's… it defines me, everyone knows that about me."

"It's what everyone thinks about you. That doesn't mean it's not a front," Sam pointed out delicately.

"Yeah well, it isn't, okay? It's not a front. I like women. And I don't care if you have your little fantasies about kissing boys, but I don't."

Sam sighed. "Dean – "

"No. I don't have time to deal with this, Sam. This… This case I'm on. You have no idea how important it is, do you?"

"I understand, Dean; it's terrible what's happening to these people, but – "

"No, you don't get it," he barked. "It's about… it's about Mom, Sam."

Sam drew a deep breath, his eyes wide. "What?"

"These people, this _cult_. I think they killed Mom. They did another series of crimes right around the time she died – the same manner of death. But they were all home fires, most of them weren't even classified as crimes; no one made the connection."

Sam stumbled back and fell into the chair behind him. "And you… you think you can finally catch them? You can stop them?"

"I hope so," Dean said fiercely. "We don't know everything yet, but… we have a strong lead. One of the members, a girl named Ruby, pointed us to the cult's leader. He calls himself Lucifer."

"L-lucifer." Sam's face went white. "And Ruby." He swallowed and stood up, looking desperately towards his brother. "Dean, does this cult, this man… does it have any connection to the Sandover corporation?"

"That big case you've been working on?" Dean frowned. "I'm not sure yet. The girl – Ruby – said he used to work there, a chief executive or something. Is there –"

"I knew it." Sam shot up. "Dean, I'm sorry, I have to go. But I'll call you later – as soon as I can. I think I may know something that can help you."

Sam, what are you talking about? Sam did you – "

"I have to go, Dean." He'd already grabbed his coat and briefcase, one foot nearly out the door. "But I promise, I'll call you as soon as can!"

X X X

Sam never called.

"Something's wrong." Dean paced up and down the living room of Cas' apartment; he'd headed over there as soon as enough time had passed for him to start getting worried. "He said he'd call. I have no idea where he is or what he's doing – only that it's connected to the case. I… I told him about our mother, and I must have said something about Ruby and Lucifer, because he mentions Sandover and the next thing I know he's damn near flying out the door."

"Dean." Cas looked at him gravely. "Sam may be in very great danger. There is not much time."

"What? Cas, what the hell are you talking about?"

"They're connected. The case Sam has been working on and this one."

Dean started. "How the hell do you know that?"

He waved the question away. "There is very little time to explain. If what Ruby said was correct, however, then we only have about…" He looked at his watch. "Half an hour. It is already 11:30, and tomorrow…"

"Yeah." Dean swallowed. "Any time from tomorrow until the end of the week. The next murder."

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

"Fuck. We have to go. We have to find Sam. _Now_."

Castiel grabbed his arm. "I know where he might be. Call Bobby – ask for back-up immediately." He looked at Dean, eyes burning. "We have very little time."

As soon as Cas had given him the address he'd called Bobby and they'd gotten in the car. Dean didn't care how or why Cas seemed to know what was going on – all he could think about was getting to Sam.

X X X

Cas had pulled a gun from somewhere in his trenchcoat – and as much as it registered in Dean's mind as an oddity, he didn't really care. He sank down from the window, looking at Cas. "They have Sam."

Castiel put a firm hand on Dean's shoulder. "I know," he said calmly. "He has Sam. But we will get Sam back." He took in a breath and leaned in until his forehead was against Dean's. "But we will stop him and we will get Sam back. I promise, Dean."

Dean's chest was heaving, each shallow breath sharp as he put one arm around Castiel, gripping tightly, clinging to the other man as they stood there in the dark. His lips were dry, and with every inhale Cas drew he could feel the puff of damp heat spread across his cheeks. Desperately, he believed him. Too much had gone wrong in Dean's life already; he wasn't losing Sam.

"Okay," he said finally. He lifted his head and met Cas' eye. They could do it. Sam would be fine, Dean swore it to himself. Sam would be fine.

Going in guns blazing wasn't really the smartest option, but it had always been Dean's style.

"Put your hands up," he yelled, his voice hoarse. Sam was tied to a plain, wooden chair, a pool of blood by his feet. His face was wet and dirty, tracks of tears on his cheeks. And there was a man beside him: tall, thin, smiling.

"Hello, detective," he said genially.

"Lucifer." Castiel stepped forward, gun pointed straight at the man.

His smile didn't falter. "Hello, Castiel. I'm sorry to cut things short, but I really think it would be best if you weren't here." And before any of them knew what was happening, a shot rang out and Castiel was on the floor, crying out in pain, blood blossoming across his shoulder.

"You bastard!" Dean cried, his voice hoarse and his arm shaking. "Let him go," he said, nodding towards Sam. "Let him go right now and I won't blow your fucking brains out."

"You know… _Dean_, is it? I'm not really worried. It's only you here against me; and I have your brother here as leverage. Do you really think you can win?"

"He's not alone," a voice said, behind Dean. Bobby and a host of other officers came up towards them, guns all trained straight on Lucifer.

"I suppose I should have expected this," he said, his mouth pulling a deep frown. He put the gun to Sam's temple, his finger on the trigger. "I can't leave things up to a chance; I really should have orchestrated this little meeting myself. But never mind all that." He smiled cruelly. "Put the guns down."

Dean lowered his immediately, but everyone else, still tense, stood there wondering what to do.

"I am not kidding," Lucifer said lightly. "I will not hesitate to kill him; you're really leaving me no other option."

The situation looked hopeless; but just as Bobby raised his arms, his gun pointed helplessly toward the ceiling, Sam threw himself at Lucifer. With all his strength he'd pushed to his left – and it was just enough of a distraction to surprise him; someone fired. Sam toppled hard to the floor and Lucifer crumpled down with him. Dean aimed – and one last shot rang out, a bullet straight through Lucifer's forehead.

"They got Jess," Sam screamed as soon as the gag over his mouth was off. "It was… her; she's the next victim. She's… she's dead." His neck craned over and Dean could see a frail, crumpled form in the corner of the room. Sam's body shook with sobs as they helped him up, and suddenly Dean understood where the pool of blood had come from. "Take him outside," he said to Bobby quietly. "We need to take care of Jess's body. And get Cas to a hospital." He looked down at Lucifer's prone form, blood still trickling out, its hair matted and wet where it lay. It was hard to tell which blood was his and which was Jess'. Dean swore.

But it was finally over.

X X X

Castiel blinked open his eyes. "Dean," he said hoarsely, looking up to see a pair of sad, green eyes staring back at him. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital, man. You were shot – in your shoulder."

Cas groaned and sat up. "Ahh. Yeah, I can feel it." He moved his shoulder a little, a hand coming up to rub gently at his wound.

"So." Dean sat down in the chair by the bed. "I guess you're not actually a writer."

"No, I… I am."

"But you're something else, too."

Castiel offered a wan smile. "Yes. Dean, I… I apologize for lying to you. As you yourself realized… it was imperative we took him down."

"Yeah, it's okay. I was pissed at first, but… while you were asleep your… _editor_ came by. A guy named Chuck?" Castiel nodded. "So I guess I can understand. He, uh, dropped your manuscript off, too. Said I might like to read it."

Castiel shifted in his bed. "Did you read it?"

Dean grinned and held the manuscript up. "Read most of it while you were sleeping. It was good." He flipped through a few pages, one eyebrow raised. "I gotta say, though, the detective? My favorite character. You must have had some damn good inspiration." He coughed. "I don't remember it being quite so, uh… homoerotic when it happened, though."

"That wasn't intentional, I assure you."

Dean shrugged. "They say you'll be out of here soon," he said. "Your shoulder should heal."

"And… how is Sam?"

"He's… all right," Dean said, his shoulders dropping. "Mostly. Jess didn't…" His voice lowered. "She was already dead when we got there."

"I'm sorry."

"He's going to recover eventually. We got the guy, didn't we? Even if he didn't exactly survive it."

For a long moment, Castiel was silent. "I suppose… if the book does well, I may need to write a sequel."

Dean grinned. "Damn. And I was looking forward to getting rid of you. I guess you're going to keep following me around? _Observing_ me?"

"That was the plan, yes."

They smiled for a moment, before Dean pulled out a small white box. "It's cherry," he said, lifting the lid and taking a not very discreet sniff. "You want a bite?"

"Thank you," Castiel said. Dean took a plastic fork from the container and cut off a big piece. He held it up and Castiel leaned forward to meet him halfway.

Dean beamed. "It's good, right?"

Castiel smiled around the fork. He swallowed. "Yes. It's the best."

* * *

Thanks for reading! Reviews would be greatly, greatly appreciated.


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